


Come Home

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Affection, Coulson loves Skye, Coulson's Father, Eating, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Fury, Gen, Hotels, Love, Money, Nostalgia, Overnights, Parallels, Reminiscing, SHIELD is broke, Skye is awesome, WWII, collectibles, service men, skoulsonfest2k14, vintage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>August 28th - Skoulsonfest: Vintage</p><p>Coulson goes to an old acquaintance to sell some of his vintage collectibles to fund SHIELD with Skye in tow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home

“It’s _vintage_ , not antique.”

“ _Practically antique?_ ”

“I have a reputation to uphold, you know,” the man said, looking up at him. 

His deeply wrinkled face regarded Coulson, appraising.

“And I’ve been a loyal customer for over 16 years,” Coulson shot back.

“I heard you were dead.”

“The reports of my death…,” he started.

“Yeah, yeah,” the other man said, waving a hand at him and cutting him off.

He turned his back with the slight hunch to him and went to his ledger, began flipping through the pages and followed with a finger down the list.

“How much, ballpark?” Coulson sighed.

“Come back tomorrow, I’ll have a better idea,” he replied, his back to him.  “I need to find the right customer.”

“You expect me to just leave them here?”

“I’m a broker, not a buyer, Coulson.”

He glanced over his shoulder to watch as Coulson turned eyeing the young woman who kept away just enough to hear but not enough to participate.

She had been pretending for the last 15 minutes to look at the same antique globe, spinning it occasionally.

“You guys in some kind of trouble?” he said, looking back at Coulson, eyebrows knotting.

“Do you watch the news?”

“ _No_.”

“Read newspapers?”

“ _Occasionally_ ,” he shrugged.

“Yes, we’re in a bit of pinch,” said Coulson sarcastically.

“You need some sandwich money?”

“What?” Coulson replied, scrunching up his face.  “No.”

“Just want to make sure you can eat…”

“I’m sorry,” Coulson said.  “Thank you.  But, no.  We’re looking for more than sandwich money.  _I hope_.”

“Me too,” he said.

****

The bell of the door dinged and Coulson squinted slightly as they left the dark confines of the shop and stepped out onto the Boston sidewalk.

Skye looked over at him and grimaced, put her hand across her eyes to cut the glare.

“Sorry you have to sell your stuff.”

“You mean my _old crap_ , right? That’s what you’re really thinking,” he said.

“Hey, your old crap that means a whole lot to you,” she answered, putting her hand on the shoulder of his jacket.

“Hopefully, my old crap will interest someone with deep pockets.”

“And you’re okay just leaving it in there?” she asked.

He started walking down the sidewalk, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“He’s honest.”

“That old guy, he’s sweet on you. He wanted to give you lunch money,” she smiled scrunching up her nose.

“We’re not _that_ broke, Skye.”

“I can’t believe Fury’s black box and secret base didn’t come with some cheese.  We _really_ got the hook up,” she added a little flip.

“At least there’s a coffee maker.”

“Uh huh.  Priorities,” she said, eyeing the nearby waterfront.

“Want to take a walk?” he asked, noticing her line of sight. “Nice enough day.”

They headed down toward the water.

“Charles River,” he volunteered.

“ _And_ my own tour guide.  So, how do you know him anyway?”

“The first memory I have is when I was nine.  We went there to sell my father’s pocket watch.”

“Oh.”

She didn't say anything else but left some room, hoping he'd continue.

“He had died a few months before, and, my mom needed the money.  Well, _we_ needed the money and I was nine.  So, she took it in and Mr. Walsh gave her the money.  He gave her more, I think, than what it was really worth.  I just remember the look of relief on her face and her crying and the way he _looked_ at her. I’ve never forgotten it.

“Does he remember you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.  “Probably not. Maybe. He knows more than he lets on. Not one of the alphabet agencies, of course, but he fought in WWII.”

“Ha, maybe he met Cap.  Did you ever ask him?”

“Where do you think I got most of my card collection from?” Coulson smirked. “That card collection….”

“I’m sure the real thing is _much more impressive_.”

“But it was near mint.”

****

He looked up at the chime and the pretty brunette from earlier came in alone.  It was late, just before closing.

“ _Hi_ ,” she said, friendly, leaning forward on the counter. “I was here earlier.”

“So, she _can_ talk,” he said, smiling over at her. “Can I do something for you?”

“This is going to seem really random,” she apologized.  “But, about 40 years ago, a woman came in with her son and they brought a pocket watch.”

“That’s a _real long time ago_ , Miss.”

“I know, just hear me out.  The woman was upset, it was her husband’s and he had just died and you gave her money, a lot of money, I think.”

She paused.

“Go on,” he said.

“That’s it.  Do…do you remember?”

“I fought in WWII, you know.”

“Yeah, I heard.  That’s…important.”

“Marine on the Pacific front.  We made a difference in the end, but some days, it felt just pointless.  All the death and destruction.”

Skye looked down at her backpack as her cell started ringing and she glanced at it, stuffing it deep in a pocket, giving him her attention.

“You need to get that?” he asked sardonically.

“No. I am _all ears_.”

“So I made it back, though.  I came home and resumed…life,” he said, motioning to the shop around him.  "And other people resumed life, and, it doesn’t always go so well for them.  I saw people lose their sons and fathers. Brothers. A lot of people.”

He could hear her phone ringing again from inside the backpack.

“I think someone wants you,” he said. “Coulson?”

Skye rolled her eyes.  “Yes.”

“Nice enough guy.”

“Mmm hmm,” she said.  They waited until the ringing stopped.

“Anyways,” he continued, “Sometimes the ones that made it back didn’t make it all the way back.”

He turned his back to her and went behind the counter, pulled a dusty old box off the top shelf above the old fashioned register and blew on the top of it.

Placing it down in front of her, he opened it up and pulled out a silver object, placing it on the counter in front of her.

Skye stared down at it, holding her breath. “May I?”

He nodded and she picked it up, turning it over in her hand then pulled the clasp apart.

“You have ways of knowing,” he said.  "I just couldn't get rid of it."

Inside the inscription on it said in flourished, feminine cursive, “Come home.”  There were different dates etched into it, scratched into it by hand.

Skye put her fingers against her mouth, feeling something well up inside of her.  It was a little piece of him.

“It’s older than that.  My guess is Civil War era.  Probably in the family for generations.  Line of service men, maybe.”

“I think, you’re right,” she said.  “Is there...any chance, any way possible…”

“That I would part with it? What’er you offering?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you have any parking tickets you would like to see disappear?” she asked, blinking.

“No, no. I don’t want to be an accessory to whatever it is you guys are doing.  Better I don’t know, I’m from a different time.”

“I was totally kidding, by the way,” she said.

The phone was ringing again.

“Better get that, he’s insistent.”

She dug into her bag and answered the phone, “Hi, I can explain.  I’m busy, yes, I can meet you there in 10 minutes. Jamaican?  Sure. Whatever…yes.  Can I just call you back?  Stop.  You’ll find out soon enough. Bye.”

“ _So impatient_ ,” she said, pulling the phone away from her ear.

“Here,” he said, handing the watch to her, now wrapped in a cloth case.  “Yours.  Or, _his_ , rather.”

“Can you please come from behind the counter or let me come back there?” she squealed.

“I can manage!” he said, irritated and came slowly around the counter.

Skye threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Mr. Walsh.”

He smiled back at her.  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Skye,” she said, beaming.

“He’s a lucky fella.”

****

"How old was your mom when she married your dad, anyway?" she asked, grabbing some of the coco bread to stuff it into her mouth.  "'Cause, I did the math, and..."

"Nineteen," he volunteered, licking the jerk spices from the chicken wings off his fingers as he inspected them.  "Damn, these are good."

They were sitting near the water on one of picnic tables near the Jamaican food truck Coulson had scoped out.

"Your dad married someone half his age," she replied, eyebrows raised, jabbing her fork into the last of her curried patties.

"Yeah."

He just stared back at her, sucking the pineapple soda from the bottle through the straw until it made a hollow sound.

" _Interesting_."

"Where have you been this whole time?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.

He had loosened his tie a little, rolled up his sleeves to avoid chicken grease, and his jacket was neatly folded in half on the seat beside him.

"I found something for you," she said.

"For _me_."

She nodded with a growing smile as he narrowed his eyes.

"Did you win a bet?"

" _No_."

"Does it involve the Rising Tide and unauthorized access to bank accounts?"

" _No_ , Coulson," she said, stretching her arms out across the table.

"Then what?"

She reached into her backpack and pulled the fabric pouch out, sliding it across the table towards him.

He went for the napkins and began wiping off his fingers as he looked back between her and the object.

"Are you going to look inside?" she said impatiently.

Lifting it, he turned the envelope side of the pouch down and slid the watch out into his fingers.

Skye watched as he sat in silence, lips pursed and the muscles beneath his jaw tensing.

" _How?_ "

"Look inside," she said, trying to not mirror his emotions to take anything away from this moment being for him.

It clicked open and his eyes widened as he ran a finger over the engraving.  "My great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather, my granddad, and my father."

"And..you," she said.  "You went into SHIELD out of high school."

He leaned forward and placed one of his hands over hers.

"Thank you.  For this," he said, holding the watch with the other.  

"Even if you do lose all your old junk," she said, playfully.  "You still have this."

"I have what matters.  I know that."

"Well," she said, her eyelids fluttering.  "The _least_ you can do is buy me dessert." 

"Fair enough," he said, taking his hand off hers and pocketing the watch as he gathered their food up.  "Suggestions?  Cravings?"

"Why don't you surprise _me_ for a change?"

He huffed at her.  

"Let's check in with May first and make sure we're cleared for an overnight."

****

"We could just get room service," he said, tossing his suit jacket over the back of the chair and looking around the desk for the menu.

"Fine by me," Skye said, walking past him into the bedroom.

"Guess I'm taking the couch?" he said bluntly, as she walked back in smiling and shoeless.

"Am I even in charge?" he asked her.

"Do you really want to make me have to say it?" she said, taking the menu from his hand.  "I thought we agreed you can't be in charge of _everything_."

"I can be in charge of dessert," he said, grabbing the menu back out of her hand and smirking.

He slid his tie off with one hand as he looked over the menu.

Skye flopped down onto the sofa and glanced around the room.  

"The British are coming."

Coulson glanced over at her, just catching the remark at the end of his thought.

She pointed at the floral curtains and said, "It's what those curtains just said to me."

"Very funny."

"Revolutionary _style_ ," she said, toeing at the forest green carpet.

"Revolutionary _prices_ ," he said.

"And yet, you're about to pay $12 for cookies."

He tweaked his jaw at her.

"See how that works?"

"That why you like to stick to motels?"

"Yup, you get _exactly_ what you pay for."

He went over to the phone and called in a brownie sundae.

Coulson _always_ wanted chocolate.  Skye craned her head back and peered between the curtain sheers.  

"Hey, you can see the water."

She turned around onto her knees and put her hands on the back of the sofa looking out.

"I know," he said, smiling at her.

"Thanks," she smiled back.

"Why do you think he kept it?" Coulson asked.  

She felt the springs sink next to her on the couch.

"He said it was a line of serving men.  I think something about that stuck with him.  Like, he didn't want it be cut off."

"I hardly remember my father," he said, leaning back against the sofa, a slightly troubled expression.

"Don't you think he'd be proud of you?"

He craned his head towards her.

"I'd like to."

She reached forward and touched the side of his face just ever so lightly.

"I am."

Coulson drew up one hand and sliding his fingers between hers, kissed the knuckles at the top of her hand.

They both jumped as someone banged on the door.

"Dessert," he said, getting up off the couch.

****

As Lola landed in the Playground hangar, Coulson exchanged a wary look with Skye.

"That's quite a hefty wire transfer," he said.

"Who do you think the buyer was?" Skye asked, still in shock at the row of zeroes displayed on her phone.  "Mr. Walsh can cut a deal.  Maybe we should bring him on as a consultant?"

They grabbed their bags and marched out towards their com hub as May approached them.

"Welcome back," she said. "Take it the sale was a success?"

" _Understatement_ ," Coulson said smiling, continuing on towards his office.

"This the guy you got your card collection from?" May asked walking at his side.

"The same."

"Isn't he kind of sweet on you?"

Skye smiled knowingly over at May.

"Oh, a package arrived this morning," May said, heading down the hall towards the training facilities. "It's on your desk."

"Thanks.  Just give me 10 and I'll be ready for a debrief."

" _Relax_ , Director," she said, stopping for a moment, smiling.  "It's all under control."

"Then I'll take 15," Coulson smirked.

Coulson and Skye went their separate ways and dropped off their overnight bags, getting ready to re-engage with home ops.

Skye appeared in the hall just as he was exiting his quarters and she smiled at him as they both headed towards his office.

This was just routine by now.

As they entered, Coulson suddenly remembered the package, a large brown parcel sitting on the side table near the fake window displaying a decidedly non-TAHITI-esque image.

That had been a personal request.

He looked over at Skye and went around his desk to get a letter opener.

It wasn't wrapped well and didn't have a return address on it.

If it hadn't already been through processing, he'd definitely be regarding this as a suspicious package.

He opened it up and saw amidst the jumble his signed baseball.  The Russian cosmonaut helmet.  Reliefs recovered from the temple in K'un-L'un.

Sitting on the top was a single sheet of paper, half folded.

Coulson look at Skye in amazement as he took the piece of paper and slowly read it out loud.

 

> " _Phil, Here is all your vintage crap back.  No one told you to sell your damn collection._ "

He stared down at the initials.

"Nicholas J. Fury."

Skye started to laugh.

Coulson just shook his head.

"Well, I know how _you'll_ spend the rest of the afternoon," she said, eyeing his empty wall shelves.

" _Unbelievable_."

****

When she left and came back later, after midnight, she found Coulson sleeping in his office chair.

Wasn't the first time.

She went around to his desk and was ready to wake him when she saw the pocket watch sitting out on the desk, open.

Picking it up she looked over the dates and saw scrawled in precise clean lines, _1982_.

It even looked kind of 80s, digitized, the way he'd scratched it into the surface.  

Phil Coulson, always with the flair.

Instead of waking him, she stopped and leaned over, kissed him on his forehead.

Stirring slightly she watched him settle back into rest and she left, switching off the light behind her.

He'd had a good day.

Something always worth fighting for.


End file.
